


Lay It On The Line

by gwendy1



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake fiance, Fluff, Happy Ending, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Mafia AU, Mob Boss Shiro (Voltron), Mystery, Policeman Keith, Sheith Reverse Bang: Wedding Edition, Warning: mentions of parent death, brief appearances by others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21831679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendy1/pseuds/gwendy1
Summary: Just when it feels like Keith’s world is falling apart, a blast from his past provides him with support. Keith and Shiro unravel the mystery of who killed Keith’s father, while attempting to hide their star-crossed involvement as policeman and mob boss. They may have taken vastly different career paths, but their feelings for each other withstand it all.She shrugs, nonchalant. “That’s what I would do.”Hunk’s brows scrunch together in concern. “Guys, no. That sounds like a terrible plan. Guys…” he cautions them.Keith is oblivious, thunderstruck with the realization. “You’re right, Pidge.”Hunk is dismayed. “No. No, Pidge is not right. Keith, buddy, there’s the rules and your job to consider.”
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 176
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	Lay It On The Line

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by and written for Iwonn (her [tumblr](https://iwonn-arts.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/iwonn_arts)) and the [Sheith Reverse Bang: Wedding Edition](https://sheithreversebb.tumblr.com/). Credit for the story concept, prompt, and art goes to Iwonn. Please take the time to go check out her art masterposts ([part 1](https://iwonn-arts.tumblr.com/post/189721427180/my-first-comic-for-sheithreversebb-wedding) & [part 2](https://iwonn-arts.tumblr.com/post/189721450310/and-heres-the-2nd-comic-i-did-for)), and send lots of love her way. Iwonn, thank you so much for being a treasure to work with. Also, a big thank you to [@leandralena](https://twitter.com/leandralena) for jumping in to beta read this at the last minute. You went above and beyond for me and I am so grateful. Thank you both!
> 
> The fic title and some recurring themes in this story are inspired by the song, _November Rain_ , by Guns N Roses. Another song was also a strong influence, but I’ll let you discover that one at the end. :)

———

####  PART ONE

———

It’s raining hard, the rhythmic patter sounding from the roof and gutters, with intermittent splashes from passing cars as they drive through growing puddles.

Keith watches the shadows of raindrops flow where the light refracts, through the windows and onto the wall. It casts a moving pattern behind the television, slightly mesmerizing.

Then again, maybe he’s just bored with the ridiculous number of pharmaceutical ads streaming one after the other onscreen. He bites into a still-too-hot Hot Pocket and frowns. Who honestly thinks it’s a good idea to have everyday people convinced by whimsical marketing, that they need the latest trendy drug and to ask the medical professionals for it? Didn’t doctors and pharmacists go to school for a reason?

The end credits of some show roll and a voice narrates the teaser tagline for the detective series that’s about to come on. Keith blows on his makeshift meal and glances worriedly at the clock. His dad is usually home by now. Even when he’s out late working a case, they always make time to watch this show together. It’s a common interest they’ve found they can bond over - both sharing a passion for mysteries and commenting on the investigative work in detective shows or lack thereof.

Tex Kogane is a well-respected detective with a decent case clearance rate, while Keith is an up-and-comer, having just graduated from the police academy. Keith still has a long way to go to reach Tex’s level in his career. But Tex takes every opportunity he can to ruffle Keith’s hair and tell him how proud he is.

Keith presses a button to start recording the show. His dad won’t want to miss this one. It’s supposed to feature more of his favorite character, the smart-as-a-whip WPC. He gazes absentmindedly at the opening sequence with its picturesque shots of England and wonders if he’ll ever travel there. Maybe he’ll go on vacation with his dad and see the world someday. At least they can get mystery shows from other countries. The European detectives usually put the American’s to shame.

Keith takes a cautious bite into bread and cheese - when there’s a knock at the door.

His eyes swing to the front door of the apartment. Who would be knocking this late? Did his dad order something? It could be a late package delivery. Or he stopped to get groceries and his hands are too full to get the door.

Keith sets his plate down and chews quickly, jumping to get the door. And out of habit, he glances through the peephole. He only processes that it’s someone in a suit before automatically unlocking and opening the door.

It’s an older man, raindrops catching along the hard wrinkles of his face. But he’s vaguely familiar. Someone his dad works with. The captain, he thinks. But why is he here now?

“Yeah?” he asks when the man pauses, looking at him too seriously. And a sinking feeling starts to take hold of his gut. Oh god, no. No. Not his dad too.

And the expression on his face must give away his devastating suspicions, because the man reaches out to brace Keith’s arm and frowns sadly at him. “Let’s go inside and sit down.”

Keith feels stricken, his body moving to return to the couch, but it’s as if he’s outside of himself. Struggling to process what’s happening, he sits there and feels his legs begin to shake. The man followed him in and closes the door behind him. Keith looks over at him, nauseous with fear.

The man sits forward from a chair next to him and folds his hands together. “I’m Captain Pullman. I work with your dad, Keith.” He continues, his voice getting softer and brimming with sympathy, “And I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Keith gasps, denial rearing up. Maybe his dad is just hurt and in the hospital. Maybe it’s not so bad. No. Just please… no.

“In the line of duty, your father died tonight.”

A hard lump of gaping loss lodges in Keith’s throat, choking him. No. He shudders, shaking his head. No! Wracked with flooding emotions and tears flowing down his face, Keith finds himself heaving painful breaths. His dad can’t be gone - just like that. He can’t be.

The police captain clasps Keith’s shoulder, grimacing. “I’m so sorry, Keith. I wish it wasn’t so.”

Keith trembles, overwhelmed with sadness. Movement on the TV catches his eye, and Keith folds in despair - curling into himself. His dad is missing his favorite show. He shouldn’t be dead. He should be here.

Why? Why  _ both _ of them? Why his family? His mom’s death was awful - ripping a hole in their lives. But he was young. And at least he had his dad. A dad who, no matter how crazy things got at work, was always there for him. A lifeline. He has no one now.

Keith rocks, slowly catching his breath. The lump in his throat feels like it’ll never go away.

The captain rubs Keith’s shoulder, clearly attempting to comfort him. But it just makes Keith uncomfortable.

Keith sits up, breathing deeply and trying to regain some composure. He needs to get any important information on what happens from here. And then he wants to be alone.

——

The next few days are spent going through the motions of funeral planning. He feels numb with grief and painfully alone.

Keith sighs, glancing at the clock, again. Time moves so slowly now. He’s been dressed in his black suit and ready to go for over an hour. Keith can’t bring himself to do anything but sit staring into the distance and listening to the quiet sounds of appliance fans humming in the lonely, empty apartment.

He regrets going to see his father’s body. The body was so devoid of life that it resembled a mannequin more than his father. His father - the dad who had carried him home and bandaged his bloody knee after Keith had fallen off his first bike. The dad who had scolded him for leaving his shoes lying around… cajoled him to pick up more salty snacks from the store just last week. Days ago. And yet, he’s gone now. And the dull pallor of death that Keith saw laying there, now haunts his memory of him.

Keith asked for a closed casket ceremony. His dad should be remembered as he was when he was alive.

The digital clock lights shift, another minute passing by.

——

The funeral is somber, shadowed with overcast skies.

Keith’s dad is gone forever, buried now under mounds of dirt and the weight of Keith’s grief. And Keith’s thoughts wander, each emotion rising up to drown him in an echoing sorrow. But he tries to be as present-minded as he can, listening to the mourners and avoiding the temptation to zone out or just walk away. These were his father’s coworkers and friends.

Another man who worked with Tex on the police force comes up to stare sadly at him and shove his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know if you remember me. I was your dad’s partner for a while before he got promoted.” He smiles faintly, determined to attempt comforting words. “I don’t know if he ever told you how honored he was that you chose to go into the same field he did,” he says. “We all knew he was a good role model for you - the best kind of stand-up guy. But he always wondered, you know, when you were growing up, if he was being a good enough parent for you. And I know it was hard for him, after losing your mom. But it meant a lot to him... to see you happy, and to follow in his footsteps. Never forget how proud you made him.”

Keith’s eyes water but he steels himself against crying. Taking a deep breath of the chilled air, he stuffs his own cold hands into his coat pockets and swallows hard, nodding at the man. He blinks away the would-be tears and looks across the cemetery, catching sight of a woman who stood at the very back of the group of mourners, keeping to the edges.

He doesn’t have time to ponder over her presence, though. Another officer approaches him and claps him heartily on the arm. “You hang in there, son. The squad will find the mafia thug who did this and bring him to justice, they will.”

A nearby man in a suit interjects, “Come on, man. Tex’s son doesn’t need to hear that.” He urges the officer in uniform away and turns to Keith. “Hey, sorry about that.” He smiles uncomfortably. “Say, were you and your dad still living in that apartment near Main Street?”

“Yeah,” Keith answers, still dazed from the angry mention of a  _ mafia thug _ . They’re not supposed to release information from the ongoing investigation, but the leaked info stirs Keith, startling him out of the numb cloudiness of pain.

The man in the suit brightens. “Good. I’ll stop by and drop off a casserole, then. My wife is sorry to have missed the funeral. She sends her condolences, though. Tex saved her, which is how she and I met. Couldn’t thank him enough. We both really liked and respected Tex. He was a good man. Real shame to see him go…” He frowns and trails off.

Later, after the other mourners are all done getting in their kind words and goodbyes, after they’ve all drifted away, Keith walks slowly back towards his father’s grave. While relieved to have some privacy to try to say his own goodbye, Keith worries at his lip. There are no words. What can he say?

As he gets closer, he notices a small package - wrapped in brown paper and left atop his father’s resting place. Written upon it, the words: “For Keith.”

Keith looks around at his surroundings, but no one is waiting or watching. They’ve all left.

Curiosity overriding his caution, Keith picks up the package and unwraps it.

It’s an old, worn-out sweatshirt. And Keith is puzzled briefly before it unfolds to reveal a silk-screened logo in the shape of an umbrella. He recognizes it immediately, remembering the sweatshirt as something his dad used to wear all of the time when Keith was very young. But he had stopped wearing it at some point and Keith had thought nothing of it. Maybe his dad had given it to someone. Perhaps whoever had it no longer needed it and understood the emotional significance it could hold for Keith.

Holding it close to his chest, Keith exhales shakily and looks down at the ground where his father lays below. “I love you, Dad.” He sniffles. “Thank you… for the time you spent with me. You were a good dad. I was lucky to have you. … And I miss you. So much.”

———

Shiro pants, running down the street. He darts down a small side street and aims for an alleyway.

As much as he hates to think it, this is - at least indirectly - his grandmother’s fault.

She’s taken care of him, she really has. And he’s grateful. After Takashi Shirogane’s parents had died when he was young, his grandparents took him in and raised him humbly on their meager earnings.

But money had been growing tighter ever since his grandmother had taken to gambling.

He and his grandfather would share frowns, worried. But the less money they had, the more desperately determined she was to win them out of hard times. And no amount of politely concerned comments could dissuade her.

But their savings kept dwindling away. And finally, Shiro resigned himself to putting off finishing college. He was just racking up student loan debt, anyway - which wasn’t helping. So he tried getting odd jobs.

Until his grandmother had gotten him a job through a friend.

A gambling friend. Which really should have been warning enough on how this would turn out.

Because while Shiro worked diligently at the high-end coffee house, he was sharp enough to catch on to the front that it was. A mob front, that put him in the wrong place at the wrong time and had gotten him involved in things he definitely hadn’t planned to be involved in.

Fuck, it stings.

Shiro grimaces at the blood seeping from the knife slash wound on his chest. The blood blooms outward, soaking into his sweatshirt. His threadbare backpack still hangs from his shoulder, though. At least there’s that. He’ll have to get the cut looked at, but he still has the cash. A cut is nothing compared to what the Altean mafia would do to him if he had lost that.

He weaves through the alley, glad he got away from the rival mob members that had been chasing him. Shiro sighs. He’ll have to tell the Altean mob boss that their drop point was compromised. And he’s not looking forward to delivering the bad news. Shiro pauses, panting, and leans against the brick. He peers down the darkened alley. This one leads to the back exit of that smoothie place he likes, right?

Shiro squints. It’s not that late, though. It should still be open. So, why is it getting so dark out?

He leans heavier into the brick side of the building. And stares shakily down at his hand. It looks grayscale, the colors of the world leaching away. Oh, no. He’s aware enough to realize how faint he’s becoming.

Shiro looks down. Then, he notices the second - much wetter - patch of blood growing on his sweatshirt. They had gotten him twice and he hadn’t realized it ’til now.

Shit. Shiro stumbles, woozy with blood loss.

“Whoa!” Someone shouts.

It sounds strangely far away, even though he can see boots and jeans come closer into his fading line of sight.

Suddenly, someone is propping him up, tucking their shoulder under his arm, and holding him up.

“They had a knife,” Shiro mumbles, half dazed, looking over into a young man’s eyes. Beautiful amethyst eyes. But that can’t be right, can it? Are dark purple eyes a real thing and he didn’t know it?

Purple eyes scrunch up. “Yeah, there’s unfortunately a rise in muggings in this area. We need to get you to a hospital.”

Adrenaline and fear kick in, briefly revitalizing Shiro. “No! I can’t.” He realizes the cops might get involved and that’s the last thing he needs. And of course, he can’t afford the medical bills. Not when money problems are what got him into this mess. And frankly, he hasn’t risen high enough in the ranks of the mob to get health benefits. What money he has is going to caring for his grandparents. So, he groans, “No insurance.”

The helpful stranger frowns sadly and huffs. “Damn.” He pauses, glancing at Shiro’s wounds and thinking. “Okay, let’s go. We’ll take a look at the damage at my place. I might be able to fix you up.” Grabbing a firmer hold on Shiro, he introduces himself, “I’m Keith, by the way,” and starts steering them out of the alley.

Shiro grunts, following his lead, and smiles, bemused. “Shiro.”

——

Luckily, Keith’s place is within walking distance.

Keith shuffles them through the door, and leads Shiro over to the couch. “Here, sit down.”

Shiro slumps heavily into the cushions, dropping his bag onto the seat beside him. Relieved to be off of the streets, he directs a friendly smirk up at Keith,“Do you always patch up strangers in your home? Or am I just lucky?”

Keith brushes his bangs back and sighs, probably wondering what he has gotten himself into. “No…,” he denies. He dashes into the kitchen, grabs a large first aid kit from the cabinet, and looks contemplative, distractedly remarking, “I just did a first aid refresher course for work,” which explains Keith’s sharp reflexes for administering aid. But when returning to Shiro, his eyes seem to take all of Shiro in, roaming over his biceps and thighs. It was subtle, but noticeable enough for Shiro to catch it. Keith sits upon the coffee table and faces Shiro, blushing slightly. So, some attraction to Shiro undoubtedly also had some influence. “And you looked like you needed help,” Keith admits.

Charmed, Shiro silently observes him rummage through his kit and pick out supplies. “Well, thank you. I owe you one.” He smiles softly at Keith, watching the quick movement of his graceful hands, and feeling privileged to have a sexy young guy with beautiful eyes go out of his way to help him.

“It’s nothing.” Keith tries to wave it off. His face becoming flush with more pink, Keith gestures at Shiro’s sliced and blood-soaked hoodie sweatshirt. “Can you…?” He trails off.

“Oh! Yeah.” Shiro pulls off his sweatshirt and shirt together, careful to not pull the skin too much around the painful lacerations. He hisses a little when it stings anyway. Setting his bloody garments atop his bag, he looks back at Keith.

Only to see him preoccupied, staring at his chest. Shiro grins. “No, really. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

Keith startles, and shakes his head. “Right. You’re welcome.” He leans forward. “Now, lift your arm a bit.”

Shiro does. And Keith swabs away the blood from each cut, looking closer at them. Cautiously prodding the edges, Keith studies the damage. “You’re lucky. These aren’t very deep. Even shallow cuts can bleed a lot. But you shouldn’t need stitches.” He wipes each one with disinfectant, then coats them in an antibacterial ointment that also serves as a mild topical painkiller. “When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

“Just before college.” Shiro answers. Sadly leaving out that he’s no longer in college.

“Then, you should be fine.” Keith assures him. He gently bandages both cuts. “But regularly change these bandages and see a doctor at any sign of infection.”

Nerves tingling with awareness at Keith’s careful ministrations, Shiro gazes at Keith, quietly appreciating the up close view of his handsome face. “So, are you an EMT?” he asks, the tone of his voice dropping into something more soft and intimate.

Keith looks up at him. “No, I’m a cop,” he reveals proudly. “Off-duty, obviously. I’m filling in on the late shift this week.” Bashful, he turns back to putting supplies back in the kit.

Stunned and mortified at his predicament, Shiro can’t help but exclaim, “Oh! Wow.” He tries to calm down. It’s fine. He can deal with this. It’s not like Keith is acting suspicious of him. And this recent foray into helping the mafia, is a one-time thing anyway. Just one more freak accident in this crazy week. “I should have guessed.” With his luck lately, of course Shiro ran into a cop.

Keith stands up to put his kit back away. And Shiro stands too. He should probably get going.

But Shiro sways, dizzy.

And Keith catches him in his arms. “Careful! You’ve still got blood loss. Why don’t you lay down here and rest for a bit?” He moves Shiro’s stuff to the table and lowers Shiro gently.

Shiro lays there, exhausted on Keith’s couch. “Thanks.”

——

Keith indulges in soaking the image of a shirtless Shiro into his memory. Who knows if he’ll ever see him again? He tidies up, returning his kit to the kitchen, and tossing the detritus in the trash. He returns to Shiro, and can’t quell the nervous happiness beginning to flutter in his chest. Shiro has dozed off, his face lax in peace.

Smiling to himself, Keith picks up Shiro’s bloodied clothes. They’re not likely to be salvaged, with holes sliced into the fabric, but who is he to judge, he thinks. It can’t hurt to wash the blood off. Shiro might still want to hang on to them. So, Keith tosses them into the washer with some detergent and turns it on. He glances over, but Shiro sleeps on - undisturbed by the noise.

Shiro is bigger than him, so he grabs one of his dad’s old shirts. And pauses, looking around his dad’s room - everything still in place, exactly as he left it. Even though there’s no one coming home to this room anymore. Keith sighs, pained. Eventually, he’ll have to get around to going through his dad’s things.

For now, he returns to Shiro and places the folded shirt on the table before him. He takes a seat in the armchair beside him and leans forward to scoop up the smoothie he had set aside in his rush earlier. Leaning back, Keith sips his drink and breathes deep, relaxing. Glad that he was there to help.

——

Keith wakes up, groggy and disoriented. His pant leg is damp with condensation from his nearly-empty smoothie cup. Keith snatches the cup from his lap before it can fall over and blinks. He yawns and remembering Shiro, he quickly looks to the couch.

But it’s empty now.

Fuck. Shiro’s bag is gone. So is the shirt he laid out for him. And disappointment starts to set in before he notices a square slip of bold purple paper.

He left a note. A post-it. Keith bites his lip, hopeful.

Keith processes that there’s a string of numbers on there, and energized by the thought of Shiro having left his phone number, he darts up. Plucking the note from the table, Keith heads towards the kitchen. He walks and reads, smiling at Shiro’s words:

Thank you so much

for your help & the shirt!

CALL ME

I’d love to return the favor

(& Your shirt) sometime.

♡ Shiro

###-####

Holy shit, he thinks. Is there a chance for something here? Is Shiro interested? Keith wrestles with the thought, trying not to read too much into this. Keith, himself, has never felt so  _ interested _ in anyone until Shiro. There’s something about him that was just so… effortlessly sexy.

At least he’ll know more when they see each other again. He slurps the last of his lukewarm smoothie and tosses the cup in the trash. But it tumbles right off of a growing pile, and rolls across the floor. Groaning, Keith sets the note on the counter and collects the cup, putting it atop the trash and pulling out the bag before cinching it closed. He gets a new bag for the bin and whips it through the air to open it up. The shift of air sweeps Shiro’s note right off the counter, though.

It twirls through the air momentarily. Keith gasps and tries to grab it. But it slips right past his fingers and drops between the stove and the cabinet.

“Shit!”

——

“You’re late.” Shrewd eyes examine the contents of the bag, counting and assessing the money. Beady eyes squint up at him. The money guy. “But it’s all here,” he admits. A little too grudgingly for Shiro’s comfort. What did Shiro ever do to this guy?

Shiro stands accountable, tense but steeling himself with courage against the handful of mob members before him. “I was intercepted,” Shiro says, lifting his shirt to show the lowest bandage which has already begun to bloom red. The walk there must have caused it to bleed again.

Alfor leans forward. “Someone attacked you?”

Shiro lowers his shirt and resigns himself to changing the bandages later. “Yeah. Sliced me with a knife. But it was like they were waiting for me. They knew I would be there,” he asserts and the implications are all too clear.

Alfor scowls, standing to pace the warehouse floor. “I knew it! We’ve got a rat.” He kicks a chair. “Goddammit!” Spinning to pin Shiro with his sharp gaze, he demands, “What did they look like? Describe them.”

“Big. Hairy.” Shiro gulps, trying to remember. “Huge sideburns and a motorcycle vest. And a squirrely one - with big cheekbones.”

The money guy shivers, dismayed. “The Galra gang?”

Alfor frowns. “Sounds like Sendak and Haxus.” He clasps Shiro on the shoulder and smiles warmly. “Thank you, Shiro. You managed to do this job and you’ve been very helpful. How would you like to help me find the mole in my operation?”

Shiro blinks, surprised to find himself being enfolded deeper into Alfor’s mob business. “Uh, yeah. I’m glad to help out.” Then again, it’s not like he has a choice. His grandmother owes money to this man - a very formidable mob boss that Shiro is not about to cross.

“Excellent.” Alfor pats him on the back and turns with confidence to the still-trembling man currently transferring the bundles of cash into a briefcase. “Slav, why don’t you set Shiro, here, up with an account? And don’t worry so much,” he declares, “We’ll have this situation in hand in no time.”

An account, huh? Shiro grins. That undoubtedly means a bigger paycheck. Maybe he could get used to this.

———

####  PART TWO

———

Keith and Tex mainly used to talk about the investigative process, not-so-much about office politics. So, Keith finds himself butting heads with people at work more often than not; like Griffin who’s definitely the jerk among his coworkers. Or Sanda, who constantly pulls him into her office to chastise him over every minor thing even though she’s not in charge of his division, and especially Iverson when he accidentally scratched the man’s car during a training exercise. He’s not making many friends. But then again, he’d supposes he’s friendliest with Hunk from forensics and he gets along great with Pidge, one of their medical examiners. Seeing them is a rare occasion, though. He’s more likely to be stuck on drunk tank duty or booking small time misdemeanors. Working his way towards homicide division is taking longer than he’d like.

Iverson starts shouting out assignments, as usual. “Kogane! You’re on Bibobii’s task force.”

Keith perks up at his orders. That’s homicide. Is he finally getting the opportunity to do some investigating in the field?

“He’ll need extra hands going through all the paperwork on this one,” Iverson continues.

Keith slumps. Great. Still stuck pushing papers.

——

In the cafeteria later, Keith sits down to eat lunch with Hunk and Pidge.

“Just more paperwork,” he complains. Bitter with frustration, Keith takes a bite of his sandwich and chews morosely.

Hunk frowns in sympathy. “I know it sucks, man, with your father’s unsolved case and all …but you don’t really think they’ll just let you start investigating it yourself, do you?”

Keith grimaces. Of course he knows that’s not what would happen. But it’d be nice to make some headway into investigating organized crime. Maybe interview witnesses who - even tangentially - could shed some light on who killed his dad. If he could just be allowed to investigate enough to dig up some new evidence - any really - they could reopen the case. And, even though they’d never put him in charge of investigating his own father’s murder, at least someone would be able to keep looking into it… and hopefully get his dad some justice.

Pidge slurps the last of her lemonade until the straw makes obnoxious noises from the bottom of her empty glass. “You guys are looking at this all wrong,” she says, setting the glass down. Pidge stares pointedly at Keith. “You now have access to the paperwork for the homicide division. You have access to the cold case files. Just sneak a look at your dad’s file and gather new evidence on your own time.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “That’s what I would do.”

Hunk’s brows scrunch together in concern. “Guys, no. That sounds like a terrible plan. Guys…” he cautions them.

Keith is oblivious, thunderstruck with the realization. “You’re right, Pidge.”

Hunk is dismayed. “No. No, Pidge is not right. Keith, buddy, there’s the rules and your job to consider.”

“I can investigate on my own time to generate some new leads for them. Hopefully find some evidence to point them somewhere.” Keith’s practically jumping from his seat; he’s filled with such new purpose. “And relax, Hunk. I won’t get too involved. I don’t want to compromise the case, after all.” He smiles.

Pidge smirks. “If you need any help sneaking a look at the file, let me know.”

Hunk slaps a hand over his face, exasperated.

——

A couple of years had passed since Shiro had been patched up by the very cute and unwitting off-duty cop. And while it saddened him a bit to have never heard from him, part of Shiro wondered whether it had been for the best. A lot had happened in the years since, and Shiro knows it would have only been further complicated by his involvement with a policeman.

But sometimes Shiro can’t help but yearn over the lost possibility, of at least a few passionate nights with the handsome young man.

Shiro sighs. It’s been a wild ride, reluctantly rising through the ranks of the Altean mafia. But it gets lonely.

Alfor had started him out by integrating him into the ranks of his mafia organization, using him to spy on his own men. Not only did Shiro have to immerse himself, but he had to remain vigilant and skeptical of every member and their actions. Eventually, Shiro discovered their rat. Lubos - who’d been put in charge of the Olkarian warehouse district - had been secretly feeding information to the Galra. A large gang with ambitions of taking over Altean territory and expanding their operation into a formidable mob organization. Many members of the Altean mob were happy that Shiro had rooted out the rat from their midst, but some weren’t so happy. They realized that Shiro must have been keeping an eye on all of them. They felt it was an affront, calling their loyalty into question. The indignation and raised tempers caused a few shouting matches, and certainly destroyed some of the trust among the ranks towards Shiro.

But Alfor sympathized, knowing the tough position he’d put him in. So, he took Shiro under his wing. He showed him the ins and outs of his operation, appreciating Shiro’s aptitude for smart, strategic thinking and resourcefulness, as well as his trustworthiness to keep silent about their illegal activities. And he made sure that Shiro and Coran - Alfor’s second in command - worked well together. Shiro didn’t understand the reason behind that until much later. It just seemed like Shiro was being trusted with more jobs and more power within the organization on a whim. Or perhaps his grandmother’s friend was higher up in the mob than he had realized. Or maybe he really was just helpful enough to endear himself, to be promoted up the ranks. But then, Alfor took him aside one day and quietly confided in Shiro that he knew he was getting older. And with tensions between them and the Galra gang increasing, Alfor wasn’t about to leave his family’s legacy unprepared in the face of the turmoil ahead.

Shiro was introduced to Alfor’s daughter, Allura, just ten short months before Alfor died.

It wasn’t his deteriorating health that got him in the end, though. It was the Galra.

At least it wasn’t a slow suffering into death, Allura had said, tears thickening her voice. Perhaps he was with her mother now, she mused.

Shiro held his friend tight, buffering her from the cold wind. She was on the cusp of opening her own law firm - a legal side to the family business.

And so, he steps up when it counts. Shiro takes over as head of the Altean mafia, protecting their interests, and bearing the burden of the risk.

——

Keith starts poking around. But he’s discreet. Of course.

He finishes taking quick photos of the paperwork in his dad’s file with his phone and flips the page. But the next thing in the file are the crime scene photographs. Keith gasps at the sight of his dad. Slumped on the ground, pale and with a giant bloodstain on his chest - Tex Kogane died in a hallway. Horrified, Keith flinches involuntarily, and the photo drops from the file, swooping to the floor.

Keith darts down to pick it up, stuffs it back into the file, and hurriedly stands - only to bump into the cup on the nearby desk. It flies to the linoleum below and lands with a small echo. Luckily, it’s a cheap wax paper cup, so the sound isn’t particularly loud, but Keith can’t take any more chances. He puts the file back in its place and returns the cup to the desk. Then, he grabs his phone and leaves swiftly, just barely in the nick of time. The desk clerk returns from the restroom and passes right by Keith in the hall.

Keith breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

The clerk’s shoe squeaks loudly as he slips in a small puddle of water and falls flat on his back. “What the—?”

Surprised, Keith glances back to see the clerk feel the damp ground before looking towards the ceiling. “Man, there better not be another leak…” Keith hears.

Scrunching his face up briefly in shame, Keith shakes his head and keeps right on walking. He can look at the photos on his phone when he gets home.

——

The paperwork turns out to be… disappointingly sparse.

Either, the cops investigating really had no information to go on, or they did a terrible job investigating the murder of one of their own - which is hard to believe. It was a crowded funeral. And almost everyone at the station has taken the time at some point or another to tell Keith how much they had respected his father.

Concerned at the thinness of his dad’s file, Keith starts getting suspicious. He marks it down in his notes. And decides to visit the crime scene for himself.

The building is one of a series of buildings that look identical, stretching down the block. It’s dark. Shaded. And smells faintly of mildew. Someone has clearly let the place go. The door hangs oddly in its frame and Keith has no trouble entering. Once inside, a glance at the wall reveals a list of cheap business title placards. It’s a rundown office park, though it looks like it may have been an apartment building in another life. The corridor is cold, chilled by the concrete ground and the cutting breeze that drifts through. No security cameras to be found.

Keith wanders the halls. Slowly. Carefully searching for the spot where it happened. Where his dad died.

He stops, wincing in recognition. He’s found it - the dusty hallway with fading light of the setting sun peeking through a grungy high window. Keith swallows against the lump of despair in his throat. He recognises where the photographer must have stood to capture the image of his father from that angle. The flash of the camera in his mind’s eye startles him. He’s been a beat cop providing crowd control at enough crime scenes by now to know - within his morbid turn of imagination - how it would have gone.

Keith shakes it off, shivering, and tucks his hands into his pockets.

He scans the area. Looks at each of the nearest doors. And pulls out a small notepad to write down the door numbers. He takes one last mournful look at the ground where his dad died and walks back to the entrance of the building. He notes down the names for the businesses listed under the numbers nearest to the crime, and the name of the building manager for good measure.

It’s a start.

Keith sighs, hoping it’s enough to develop some leads. He’d rather not have to come here again. It’s a bitter, desolate reminder of the loss that haunts him.

But still, he knows. He’s not going to let this go. Whether it takes one or a dozen trips to the gruesome site of his dad’s death, Keith will find out who did this.

He steps out into the dusky evening light. It’s getting dark out earlier and earlier now, the closer they get to the end of the year. A light switches on two buildings over, catching his eye. And then he notices the unmistakable shape of a security camera along with the small distinctive red light that indicates it’s recording.

Energized, Keith strides purposefully towards that building. It may be dark outside, but it’s still early enough that someone may still be on-shift and able to help him access footage from the days surrounding his dad’s murder.

This building is definitely better with upkeep - well-lit, and with a clearly marked office for security. Keith knocks lightly on the door and makes his way in.

There’s a man behind a desk with a brass nameplate that just reads, ‘Ulaz’. He looks up from his computer at Keith. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, and strives to sound professional, matter-of-fact, requesting, “Can I take a look at any footage you have from around November tenth three years ago?” He flashes his police badge.

Ulaz sits up. “Of course, officer.” He rolls over to one of the desks behind him and starts navigating through computer files. “Three years ago, you say? That would be… 2016?”

“Yes,” Keith confirms. “Thank you.”

Ulaz clicks away with the mouse. And then he frowns. Raising a brow at Keith, he asks, “November of 2016?”

Keith gets a bad feeling in his gut. “Yeah. Why?” he responds, losing patience.

“Well, that whole month of footage was taken already. Confiscated by a woman that year. A detective, I believe.” He squints at Keith. “So you should already have the footage.”

It feels like the ground dropped out from under him. Unsteady, Keith leans against the man’s desk. “A female detective?” he asks, intent. “You’re sure?”

There were no female detectives who worked his dad’s case. He’s been through the paperwork.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Ulaz answers, frowning in concern.

“There were no female detectives attached to this case.” Keith informs him gravely and pulls out his notepad. “Could you give a description of what she looked like?”

“Oh my.” Ulaz scowls. “Well, other than you, she was the only one who came by asking for that footage.” He pauses, looking into the distance. “She was tall. Athletic build. Dark hair…” Sighing, he shrugs.

Keith presses him. “Approximate age?”

“In her forties, maybe?”

Keith nods, noting it down. He sighs. “Thank you for your time.”

He leaves, disheartened. Keith scoffs to himself over the shoddy police work done on his father’s case. The report says no witnesses and no cameras, but a passerby down the street thought they saw a Galra gang member ride by on a motorcycle around the time of death. But there was a surveillance camera. Even from two buildings down, it could have caught something. And yet, not one of the detectives on the case had checked the footage.

Someone had. But who?

It’s a roadblock in his personal investigation, but then again - it could also be a lead. If someone confiscated the footage as part of a cover-up, then it could lead him to who did it.

——

After days of discreetly researching who this so-called female detective could have been, and picking Pidge and Hunk’s brains, Keith was feeling discouraged. No progress. It’s like she’s a ghost.

Trudging tiredly home after a long shift, Keith’s foot bumps into something on his way in the door. On the welcome mat, there’s a thin package. Puzzled, he picks it up. Takes it inside.

It’s stamped with a return address from some law firm. Oh god, what now? Keith slouches down into his couch.

He tears open the envelope and pulls out the pages. Only, it's not paperwork. They’re large photographs, printed in black and white. With timestamps on all three of them. All dated around the time of his dad’s death.

Keith rockets out of his seat, gasping and clutching the photos. They’re screenshots of the security footage he had just tried to get.

His heart races.

That would mean someone is watching him. That the lady who has the footage is aware that he’s been poking around.

Confused, Keith takes in the images provided. If this woman was trying to cover up the evidence of who murdered his father, why would she send him these photos?

——

The photo stills of the security footage confirmed that a Galra gang member was in the area around the time of death, but that was only one of the leads. There’s also a shot of a patrolman’s police car inexplicably at the scene, in the hours leading up to his dad’s death. His dad drove a dark unmarked sedan that’s issued to detectives, so that wasn’t his car. And yet there’s no police witnesses in the report. There’s also a photo of the crowd held back by police tape while the crime scene investigation was underway. That’s also worth looking into; some killers return to the scene.

Keith takes a deep measured breath. He won’t know the significance of the these clues until they’ve been investigated.

Hunk slides over on the bench across from Keith, making room for Pidge.

Pidge sits and twists off the cap on her drink. “So, what’s up?”

Keith leans forward. “You know how some woman took the security footage?”

They nod.

“Well, last night I got home to discover this,” Keith slides the envelope of photos across to them.

Hunk reaches for it first, sliding the photos out and thumbing through them. “These are from the security footage… But why…?”

Wide-eyed, Pidge grabs them out of Hunk’s hands. “What?!” She looks at each. “Did she send them to you?”

Hunk and Pidge both stare at Keith, concerned. “Dude, someone knows you’re digging into this,” Hunk says, worried.

Keith sighs, his excitement dimming. “Yeah, that’s why I’m hoping you both will help me follow up on the leads in those pictures. Discreetly,” he emphasizes. “While I try to find out who sent me those photos and why. I should probably know what I’m getting into.”

“Us, help?” Hunk winces from an out-of-sight nudge from Pidge. “Of course we’ll help out! And it might be better if they can’t link everything back to you, anyway,” Hunk affirms.

Pidge smiles. “Yeah - no problem, Keith. We’d love to help out.”

Keith leaves them the photos but reaches out to pick up the envelope. “Thanks. It means a lot.” Keith gives them a lopsided smile, hopeful. “Now I just have to follow up on this.” He waves the clearly stamped corner of the envelope between them - marked from The Law Offices of Allura De León.

——

Keith looks up at the fancy downtown corporate building. Why would anyone who works here be getting involved in his father’s murder investigation?

Then again, his quick search on the police database during his lunch break had uncovered the firm’s history of defending members of the Altean mafia in court. But given how the Altean mafia is a major rival of the expanding Galran gang, perhaps they just want to use any leverage they have against their enemies.

According to the lobby directory, De León’s law offices are on the seventh floor, so Keith takes the elevator. And just when it looks like he doesn’t have to share it, someone darts forward - catching the doors.

A muscled arm and strong shoulder press the door open again and a tall man in a suit quickly gets in, holding a delicious-smelling bag of takeout close to his chest. He exhales in a puff, visibly relieved to have caught the elevator in time.

The man is devastatingly attractive just from his profile. But something about the dark hair with a distinctive undercut sticks out to Keith, even though he can’t place it with the soft-looking white fluff of bangs.

The doors close and the ground shifts, propelling them upwards.

Keith studies the man’s reflection in the shiny doors, and sees the man’s eyes move to take in Keith’s reflection. Filled with sweeping recognition, Keith gasps, “Shiro?”

Shiro turns - eyes wide and shares in his shock, exclaiming a surprised, “Keith?!”

And wow, Shiro looks like he’s been through a lot in the intervening years, but it’s only served to make him even more drop dead gorgeous. Was he always that buff?

Smiling, Shiro tilts his head and pouts teasingly at Keith. “You never called.”

Embarrassed, Keith admits, “Your number fell between the cabinet and the stove.” Keith blushes at remembering the hours he spent trying to retrieve it with a wire coat hanger to no avail. He only barely managed to talk himself out of pulling the oven unit out and risking a gas leak.

Shiro raises his brows, amazed. “So, you’re not opposed to going out with me? You just caught a stroke of bad luck?” He smirks.

Keith can’t help but gulp against the churning tumble of nerves of putting himself out there, but he somehow finds the courage to boldly make his willingness known. He’s definitely not missing out on this chance a second time. His voice is faintly breathy, stating, “You look more stunning than ever. I’d be a fool not to go out with you.”

Shiro’s eyes soften and he ducks his head briefly. Cheeks flushed, he holds out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

Keith hands it over, and Shiro adds his number into the contacts, before texting himself so that he has Keith’s number in return. Shiro’s phone whistles and he grins, then holds Keith’s phone back out to him. “We’ll make plans later, then.”

Heart pounding, Keith collects his phone and tucks it away. “Yeah.” He smiles softly.

Excited at being able to reconnect, Keith is startled when the elevator stops. The seventh floor. And they both get out.

At first, Keith chuckles at the coincidence, but then they go to the same law office.

A tall, young woman with striking white hair spots Shiro, and rushes over to grab the food. Enthused, she gushes, “Shiro, I swear, you are my very best friend.” She sets the bag on the reception desk and calls out, “Romelle! Shiro brought us food.” Turning to them, she says, “This pro-bono case is driving me mad. I’ve been researching legal precedents for days.” She flashes a friendly smile at Keith and pokes Shiro, asking him, “Who’s your friend? Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Shiro gestures distractedly, “Keith, this is my best friend, Allura. Allura, this is my new friend, Keith.” Puzzled, he continues, “But I think Keith has his own reason for being here,” and glances in askance at Keith.

Keith pulls out the envelope, but stops short. His assumptions that maybe Shiro had been in an accident, and happened to get an office job in this building fall away.

And the reality of the white tuft of hair, the facial scar, and the high-tech prosthetic that match the picture-less description posted to the police board in connection with the Organized Crime Unit’s BOLOs sinks in - once connected to Allura, the mob lawyer for the Altean crime syndicate. Shiro’s the rumored new head of the Altean mob.

Aghast with dismay, Keith stares appalled at Shiro. He never figured the Shiro he had met just a couple years ago could change so much.

And Shiro must remember Keith’s occupation because it seems to click for him. Shiro frowns. “You just realized who I am?”

Incredulous, Keith shouts, “You’re the new head of the Altean mafia. Why?!” He can’t help but slip into bitter sarcasm, “Did you think murder, hookers, and blow sounded like a good career path?”

Shiro snorts, looking sad now, but responds firmly. “The Alteans aren’t engaged in any of that. Officer.”

Allura clears her throat pointedly and darts forward to stand between them, immediately on guard to defend her client. “Why are you here?” she asks Keith.

Keith scowls, feeling unreasonably betrayed. But he can be upset about this later. Right now, the investigation into his dad’s murder comes first. He lifts the envelope. “I received a package from this office. It contained photos from stolen security footage of the crime scene during the hours of my father’s murder.” He stares Allura down, stone-faced. “I want to know who’s playing games with me, why, and I want that footage surrendered into police custody.”

Allura glances at the envelope where her firm’s address is boldly stamped. “What on Earth…?” She appears taken aback and confused.

Keith raises a pointed eyebrow, “So, you deny any tampering with evidence?”

“Oh, shoot.” A new voice chimes in unexpectedly.

Keith, Shiro, and Allura all turn to see a blonde woman - ostensibly the “Romelle” Allura had called earlier - inch her hand out of the takeout bag, while staring worriedly at the envelope in Keith’s hand.

Allura snatches the envelope out of Keith’s hand. “Romelle, what is this? This isn’t even our firm’s postage materials! How did this envelope get our stamp on it?” She gestures angrily with it.

Romelle bites her lip and clasps her hands, fidgeting with guilt. “One of the P.I.s on retainer asked me to mail it for her …and I posted it with the rest of our outgoing mail,” she reveals. “I am so sorry, Allura. I didn’t think it would be any trouble.”

Allura questions her sharply, “Which P.I.?”

Romelle squirms under the intense scrutiny of all three of them. Solemn, she gives up the name. “Lia.”

Allura is baffled, “Lia?!” She seems shaken. “Why would she use us like this?” she remarks sadly. Facing Keith again, she hands him back the envelope and sighs. “Romelle, why don’t you get Officer—?” She trails pointedly.

“Kogane,” Keith supplies.

“—Officer Kogane the contact information of Lia Marmora,” she continues.

“Right away,” Romelle darts off.

Keith takes the opportunity to inquire, “Ms. De León, do you have any idea why someone connected with your firm would tamper with evidence for a case where the lead suspect happens to be a member of the Galra?” His eyes shift meaningfully over to Shiro.

Shiro guffaws. “You think I’m behind this? What - mob politics spilling into police investigations?”

Allura presses Shiro back a step. “Zip it.” She once more gets between them. “This firm is happy to cooperate with any investigation, Officer,” she says, but the cold smile and tone of voice belies just the opposite. “But any questions directed to my client will have to go through me.” She narrows her eyes at Keith in steely resolve.

Romelle returns, handing Keith a slip of paper with a chirp, “Here we go.”

Keith double takes at the full name listed. “Krolia?!” He feels faint. The amount of twists and turns this investigation is taking are staggering. Everything is starting to feel upside down, or out of the Twilight Zone. What is going on? When will things start to make sense again?

“Something the matter?” Shiro asks.

Is Shiro concerned for him? Keith isn’t sure if the sound he makes is a sob or a laugh. “Krolia is my dead mother’s name.” He shakes his head, incredulous, and shoves the paper in his pocket. Someone must be playing mind games with him, he thinks. Because this is crazy.

Keith vaguely registers the general confusion and disbelief on their faces. And what is there left to say? This is an unofficial investigation that he will likely get reprimanded for despite new evidence surfacing as a result. He should get out of here. Regroup.

“I should go,” Keith mutters and then just leaves, making his way back towards the elevators.

“Wait!” Shiro follows him. “Keith,” he says, tentative. His voice softens, lowering to impress upon him the sincerity of his words when he says, “I’m not behind any of this. And I’m sorry, for not… turning out how you hoped.” He swallows. “But something is clearly going on. And—“ He hesitates. “If you need anything, just call,” Shiro offers.

Keith stares up at him. And despite himself, he can’t help but acknowledge that Shiro seems genuine.

Shiro ducks his head, suddenly bashful. “You have my number.” He shifts his gaze back up to meet Keith’s eyes. “And I owe you, Keith,” he emphasizes. “I’d really like to help. If I could,” Shiro trails off with a whisper.

Keith looks off to the side, blinking too-wet eyes in an effort to dry them. He stands there, considering Shiro’s plea.

He straightens his spine, sniffs, and looks again at Shiro. “Maybe,” he begrudges.

And Shiro’s face lights up. As though a weight has lifted, he smiles.

———

####  PART THREE

———

It’s an informal gathering, where Coran has whipped up a small feast, testing out recipes for the upcoming holidays. But it’s also an impromptu meeting Shiro has called a few of his key people to. An excuse to check for any important intel from his men that he could use to help out Keith.

They’ve been texting back and forth for a while now. And something about having Keith back in his life is stirring his thoughts with excitement. Even though he knows how dangerous it is, he just can’t seem to help himself. Shiro doesn’t blame Keith for his reaction to discovering his mobster evolution. It hasn’t been easy for Shiro himself to get used to.

The eye-catching scar across his face, the section of his hair that has gone white from stress, and the heavy weight of metal replacing where his arm used to be… can all attest to that. But Keith was interested anyway. Even managed to fluster Shiro while he was at it.

And the simple fact that Keith hasn’t turned him in says a lot.

Warm-hearted and plate piled high, Shiro takes a seat at the table.

One of his best men at reconnaissance sits down next to him. “Sorry, man. I think my source turned out to be a dud on this one,” Lance reports with a lopsided frown, sighing. “Usually he’s pretty good at pointing me in the general direction. But he just kept agreeing every time I asked a question this time. I think he had no idea what I was talking about, and was just humoring me.” He snorts. “And as far as on-the-ground, no activity in the vicinity of the address you gave me.”

“Well, I appreciate you checking for me, Lance,” Shiro replies.

Slav finishes chewing, having been first to help himself to the food, and rolls his eyes. “That’s because the Galra don’t have any connection to anything on that street. They operate out of one of the warehouses eleven streets over.”

Shiro considers the information, “So, they may have just happened to be passing by.” He sighs.

As if bored with the whole thing, Slav cleans his glasses. “We also know it’s not likely they would be provoking a member of the police right now. They’ve been scrambling to find new arms suppliers after that scare with the ATF they don’t realize we know about. They’ll be tied up for months dealing with new trade routes,” he says, smug. An irony - given how agitated he would get over the Galra in the past.

Grateful for the rundown, Shiro nods. “Good work.”

“But,“ Slav raises his voice, narrowing his eyes at Shiro in judgement, “I should also report that we stand a statistically higher chance of our operation being scrutinized by the police if we meddle in their affairs.”

Shiro huffs, used to Slav’s attitude by now. “And thank you for the advice, Slav,” he answers sharply, not in the mood to hear it.

Lance perks up as Allura joins them, beaming at her and pulling out the empty chair beside him. “Lovely to see you as always, Allura. Have you been working out?” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Because you’re killing me with those guns.” His eyes go to her toned arms, bare as they are in her sleeveless dress - which reveals seldom seen tattoos.

Allura - who usually bristles at Lance’s flirting - smirks and takes the seat offered. “A pleasure as always, Lance,” she teases. Before Lance can reply, however, Allura turns to Shiro, frowning in disapproval. “You’re not still interacting with that policeman, are you?”

Shiro shifts uncomfortably. “With possible leads on a rival of ours, helping to further the investigation is a calculated risk; one that could put us in a stronger position,” he says, trying to justify it, and hoping his implication that this could serve Allura’s vendetta against the rival gang that claimed both of her parent’s lives is at least somewhat subtle.

She raises a pointed eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

Yeah, he grimaces. Of course that’s not gonna fly. She must have arrived in time to overhear Slav reporting earlier, on the very unlikelihood that the Galra could actually be implicated in the crimes Keith is investigating.

“I’m not buying it,” she says. “I know you well enough to know you’ve got feelings for this man and I’m concerned. What has you so drawn to him?”

Biting his lip, Shiro sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “He… helped me out a few years ago. Saved me,” he admits. “If it weren’t for Keith, I don’t know where I’d be right now,” he goes on to say. Although he understands the awful possibilities all too well. He could have passed out in that alley and been found by the Galra - who would have finished the job. He could have bled to death, or been killed.

Luckily, he had met Keith instead. He smiles with a shrug. “I don’t know. I just felt like we had chemistry. And then, running into him again—before he knew, before he realized—well, it was… nice to know it’s still there.”

Brows pinched, Allura sighs. “And you think you can win him over? That he won’t use you and then turn you in?”

Shiro hmmphs, hopeful despite her common sense concerns. “I’ve got a chance. And I’m not giving up on him,” He affirms, then scoops a generous forkful of food, and takes a decisive bite.

“And he hasn’t turned him in yet,” Lance jumps in, trying to reassure her. “That’s got to count for something.”

“Ahh,” Coran remarks wistfully, “Young love.”

Slav just side-eyes all of them in silent judgement.

——

Keith stretches out on his couch, pulling his phone out to text Shiro.

He breathes deep and lays back. It was an eventful day for Pidge and Hunk, both helping him to check out potential leads. They had gone through everyone from the photo of the crowd, taken at the scene after the body was discovered. And while each one of the faces turned out to be innocuous dead ends, at least they were narrowing the scope of the case - helping him go through the process of elimination.

It left the Galra member and the uniformed cop still in the mix. But those weren’t the only leads to follow up on. There was also the mysterious P.I. to contend with.

Which led him here, once again contacting Shiro.

About to ask for his help even more than he already has, Keith pauses. Makes a decision. And calls him instead.

After two rings, Shiro picks up, sounding hopeful, “Keith?”

“Yeah.” Keith clutches a pillow to his chest, his heart speeding up at the sound of Shiro’s voice. “Did you have any luck?”

He exhales into Keith’s ear. “Somewhat,” he hedges. “The Galra don’t have any direct connections to that area. They operate eleven streets over. And they have a vested interest in keeping a low profile right now, so it’s doubtful they’d be tampering with your dad’s case.”

Keith massages his temple, hoping to stave off the potential headache. Why didn’t the original investigating team discover this and note it in the report? “Great. So, the Galra spotted passing by is likely a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Shiro confirms sadly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“No,” Keith says. “This is helpful. It helps bring down my list of suspects. Really, Shiro. Thank you,” he emphasizes.

“Of course, Keith,” Shiro replies. Just eager enough to give Keith the confidence to ask for more.

“Actually, if you’d be willing to help me out with something else…?” Keith offers.

“Absolutely. How can I help?”

Keith smiles. “You could come with me to meet the private investigator, Krolia Marmora. I’ve texted her number and she’s willing to see me and talk. But I don’t know what her game is. It could be a set up, for all I know. So I’d be grateful if you were there. She wouldn’t be expecting it. You could—“

“—Be backup?” Shiro asks with a chuckle.

Keith smirks, amused. “Yes, you could be my backup.”

“I’d be delighted,” he says, sounding far too happy for a mobster helping out a police officer.

Keith laughs, reassured. “Thanks.”

——

They rendezvous in front of the diner where the meeting will take place. Keith, unfortunately, was assigned a patrol shift last minute and had to beg a coworker to switch. So, he shows up in his police uniform, having come straight from work. Only to see Shiro is dressed up in another suit. Looking stellar as usual. What a pair they must make. Keith takes him in, appreciating the handsome and formidable figure Shiro poses.

“Ooh, Officer. The uniform certainly looks sexy on you.” Shiro winks.

Keith laughs it off, sure that he’s teasing him.

But Shiro continues to appraise him as he approaches and gives a concerned pout. “Though, it doesn’t look like enough layers to keep you warm in this weather,” he remarks. “How about you take my scarf?”

Touched by the sentiment, Keith reaches up to feel Shiro’s tie, which matches his scarf, taking a moment to admire him. Is it possible that this man is still genuinely interested in him, Keith wonders, beginning to hope.

A puzzled voice calls out from the side, “Keith?”

Turning, Keith sees that one of his coworkers - James Griffin, also in uniform - has stumbled upon them, looking between Keith and Shiro with suspicion. Keith curses under his breath, “Shit. Not him.”

Both Shiro and Keith swivel to face Griffin and Keith greets him, “James. What— what’re you doing here?” —aiming for nonchalance while trying to figure out how to get this guy to go away. Seriously, the last thing he needs right now is for his career to be put on the line, because he’s been seen associating with a suspected mafia boss. If he can just send Griffin away before he can look too closely at Shiro and match him with the rumored descriptions being passed around at the precinct.

But, of course, Griffin is determined to butt in. “That’s my question. Shouldn’t you be on patrol? This area is mine,” he says, which would be a reasonable question if he didn’t sound slightly territorial. Why is he always eager to get up in Keith’s face about stuff? Pidge joked that maybe it’s Griffin’s way of pulling his metaphorical pig-tails, that he’s secretly got a crush on Keith. Ugh. Keith just finds that notion baffling.

Struggling to come up with something, “Uhh… You see…,” Keith scrambles for a believable excuse while Shiro stands there directing an intimidating stare at Griffin.

Griffin shifts, uneasy. But he pulls Keith two steps away and whispers, “Do you need help? Who’s that suspicious guy?”

“No!” Keith shouts. “He is— he’s just—“ Panicking, Keith grapples for an answer that won’t land him in trouble.

Shiro interjects, “Keith, you didn’t tell anyone?” His expression softens, becoming friendly. He smiles - falsely bashful - and proclaims, “I’m his fiancé, Takashi.”

Keith blushes, completely thrown off-guard. This is how Shiro swoops in to introduce himself? Oh god, he can feel his face heat and flush red. It’s flattering and gets Keith’s heart racing. But will Griffin buy it?

Griffin looks dumbfounded. “Fiancé?!” Then, seemingly chagrined, he says, “I didn’t know you’re in a relationship.”

Shiro puts an arm around Keith and pulls him close - displaying some possessiveness. And Keith lets him, silently leaning into it. Showing wordless agreement. Anything to get Griffin to back off and leave them alone. Though, privately, Keith reconciles with the fact that part of him is enjoying this. Is startlingly thrilled by it.

“So… that’s your type?” Griffin wonders aloud. “I’m James. Nice to meet you,” he says to Shiro, visibly gulping down whatever he’s feeling, and tugging on his tie. His confrontational demeanor slides back into place. “And Keith? Stop flirting and go back to work. See you later!”

I’m not flirting, Keith scoffs internally. But he can do what he likes on his own time. And Griffin really shouldn’t have anything to say about it. But Keith bites back his retort. Not willing to draw out the encounter.

And Griffin leaves, heading towards his squad car, before driving away.

When they’re alone, Keith turns to Shiro, incredulous. “F—Fiancé?!”

“You should thank me,” Shiro says. “You don’t want people to know the truth, right?” He points out, coming across perfectly reasonable despite such a dramatic lie.

“But… Fiancé? That’s…” Keith isn’t sure what to make of it. It suggests a much more serious connotation of their relationship is running through Shiro’s thoughts than he had surmised.

Shiro smirks. “Next time, I’ll bring you an engagement ring.”

Keith blushes again, hopelessly enamored with the idea, but he tries to downplay it. “Very funny. Are you like this with everyone?” Is Shiro playing with his feelings? Or flirting with Keith? His head may be warning him against it, but Keith’s heart is beginning to believe that Shiro does like him. That there could be something between them. The more cynical side of Keith reminds him that beyond that, the news will undoubtedly make the rounds of gossip through the station. “Now my colleagues will know I have a ‘fiancé’. They’ll never let me live this down.” Is it even possible to entertain the idea of a relationship with Shiro realistically given their opposing careers, though?

Caught up in his worries, Keith makes to leave the parking lot and enter the diner. He has to shake this line of thinking and get his head in the game. They’re meeting someone who could potentially provide a breakthrough in his father’s case.

“Not with everyone…” comes Shiro’s words behind him, quietly admitting, “Just with you.”

And hearing this, Keith pauses at the door and closes his eyes briefly to savor it. There’s definitely something real between them. Maybe they can try to find some happiness in each other’s company after all this? At least for a short while.

Entering the diner, they put a word in with the hostess and wait to be seated. And the door swings slowly closed but not all the way, letting in just enough of a breeze to catch Keith in its chill. He shivers.

Shiro reaches back to shut the door fully, and pulls off his scarf to drape it warmly around Keith. He smiles down at him.

And Keith looks up into his eyes, breathless. “Thanks.”

When they are seated, they slide into the same side of the booth, leaving the other empty for their guest and to present a united front. It feels… intimate. Keith relaxes into the cushioned bench, soaking up the warmth of Shiro’s body beside him.

They order hot tea and wait. Patiently scoping out the area, checking the exits and the patrons surrounding them. It’s a quiet night, a slow bustle of mostly seniors chatting and dining, while tired servers go to and fro.

Luckily, they both showed up early, and the delay out front wasn’t enough to disrupt the meeting. They don’t have to wait long, though, as a woman strides with purpose up to their table and joins them. Also arriving slightly before their agreed meeting time.

She sits directly across from Keith. And something about her tugs at his memory.

Keith clears his throat. “I’m Keith, the officer who texted you,” he introduces himself, and then gestures at Shiro, “And this is my—“

“His fiancé,” Shiro jumps in with a confident smile.

“My fiancé, Takashi” Keith echoes, slightly amused and definitely charmed at Shiro’s preoccupation with the ruse.

Keith squints briefly. Something about her face seems familiar. “You were at my dad’s funeral,” he realizes. The woman who lingered at the edges.

“Keith.” She offers him a trembling smile and reaches out to cover his hand with hers. “I’m your mother,” she declares in a choked whisper.

Keith blinks in disbelief. “What?”

Shiro gasps next to him.

What is going on? Keith mentally flails to understand. He definitely wasn’t expecting this.

She rushes to explain. “I know. You were so young— and a lot of time has passed— I never meant for things to go the way they have. I never wanted to leave you. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done - leaving your father and you to think I’d died.” Her voice cracks, and tears fill her eyes.

Keith feels like the world has dropped out from under him. “But how?! Why?” he asks. How can his mother be alive? How can he trust this woman to be telling the truth?

She squeezes his hand. “I faked my death. I was a cop, and there was an undercover assignment— but I got burned,” she shakes her head, looking down as if lamenting the past. “My real identity, my life as Krolia Kogane—as your mom—was revealed to some very dangerous people by a mole in the undercover unit. I knew the only way to keep you safe—to make sure they didn’t go after you or your father—was to take myself out of the equation. I had to make it seem like they had succeeded in killing me.”

Keith struggles to get control of the hitch in his breathing. The hand beneath hers feels numb, detached - as though it’s as displaced from its grip on reality as he is. He becomes aware of his other hand, having become entwined with Shiro’s hand under the table without conscious thought. He squeezes their clasped hands together and begins to catch his breath when Shiro returns his grasp, and strokes a thumb over the back of his hand in reassurance.

“But Dad…,” he trails off.

“Tex never knew. I wish—“ She cuts herself off. Runs a hands over her face. “I should have come to you both with the truth sooner,” she says, ashamed. “We could have worked something out. Could have had more time… together.”

Aggrieved, Keith lashes out. “Dad died! How could you just… stand by?”

She flinches. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Keith.” She reaches into a pocket.

Shiro tenses beside him.

But she pulls out a photo. An old one, of Keith as a baby - cradled between her and his dad, who happens to be wearing the hooded sweatshirt that was left atop his grave. “I still had your dad’s sweatshirt. And I just… needed you to have it,” she says with a faltering smile.

Keith pulls his hand from hers, takes the photo offered, and stares at her younger face - finally seeing his own resemblance to her.

This is really his mother. Alive and sitting before him.

“The footage? The clues?” He asks, bewildered. His voice is weak, shaken.

Krolia answers him. “I’ve been investigating your father’s murder a while now. I’ve hit a lot of dead ends. I figured if you were investigating it on your own, you probably had enough access to get farther with the evidence than I had. So I sent you the only clues I had left.”

Keith looks his mother in the eye. “Were you ever going to tell me? Would you have—if I hadn’t tracked you down and asked you here?”

And his mother looks back at him, guilt in her eyes. “Honestly,” she sighs, “I didn’t think I deserved to be in your life anymore.”

——

Shiro made sure Keith got home safely after that emotional meeting and arranged for them to get together the following week to help Keith pursue the remaining leads.

So, bright and early - after some time for Keith to process the upheaval of what he thought he knew of his mother, they meet again for the case.

Shiro wears a suit as usual - part of his image as a professional. Something Alfor had cultivated in him. And something Keith had seemed to appreciate, if Shiro was reading his body language correctly. But he also wears a scarf, just in case Keith needs something to protect him from the cold weather again. And he brought something else as well, which he hopes Keith likes.

Keith arrives, swinging around the corner. He’s in a jean jacket over a red t-shirt and jeans.

And Shiro briefly feels foolish for not dressing more casual. But he forgets that in favor of offering Keith the bouquet of flowers in his hand. He grins, and greets him, “Hello, Honey. How is my lovely fiancé doing?”

Keith laughs indulgently and accepts the flowers, “So, we’re still engaged, I see? You enjoy pushing your luck, don’t you?” He quirks up an eyebrow.

Shiro chuckles and smirks. “I come by it honestly.”

Smiling and leaning into Shiro, Keith smells the flowers and hums in contentment.

Which fills Shiro with happiness and a sense of accomplishment. He has brought some joy to Keith’s day. He tugs Keith closer and enfolds him into a hug. And Keith responds, returning the embrace - clutching Shiro tight and seeming to exhale in relief. Yeah, Shiro acknowledges. Keith needed a hug. He’s just glad he gets to be the one to give it to him.

“Yeah, well.” Keith pulls back to gaze up at him. “My friends from work—Pidge and Hunk—heard all about my ‘fiancé’. So, I got an earful the other day. They’ve been teasing me non-stop,  _ thank you very much _ .”

“You’re welcome,” Shiro smirks.

Keith takes another whiff of his flowers. “Mmm. Let me go put these in my car and I’ll meet you inside.”

“Sure.” Shiro smiles, watches Keith turn and walk back around the building. Then leans back to take in the crumbling stucco of the old building before heading inside.

It’s located just five blocks from where Keith’s dad was found murdered, so he suggested going with Keith to check it out. He’s not entirely sure how Keith and Krolia had come across the information, but apparently, a uniformed cop who was caught on tape at the scene just before the time of death had also co-signed a lease for office space in this building. And he’d co-signed along with a city mayor currently facing possible indictment for corruption, having taken half a million in big corporate bribes. It’s odd enough that a cop and a mayor would co-sign a lease together, but the length of the lease was particularly strange - three years. Why an ongoing lease for three years?

He enters the drafty office park and grimaces at the cigarette smoke that drifts in his direction. It lingers in a haze around a suited man he spots at a back door across the way. Taking a quick peek at the directory map to locate the office, he darts into the hallway on the right and stands with a relieved breath - away from the overpowering odor. He waits there for Keith.

And he’s standing mere feet from the door of the office they’ve come to check out. Shiro had borrowed some lock-picking tools from Lance to impress Keith with - on the off-chance he can bring himself to overlook a little breaking-and-entering.

But the door is ajar.

It’s cracked open several inches, allowing Shiro a view into the office. Shuffling movement catches his eye, and brings his attention to a policeman in uniform inside. He is currently shoving stacks of cash from a safe into a cheap white plastic bag. The man finishes collecting the money, ties off the bag, and places it into another white plastic bag.

He goes to close the wall safe, but notices a note at the bottom, hidden underneath where the cash had been. The man grumbles, snatches up the note, and reads it. He frowns to himself, murmuring, “…with further instructions?” Rolling his eyes, he crumples the note and stuffs it into his pocket, which shifts his coat - revealing the handle of a gun.

A gun that’s distinctly not the standard police-issued firearm.

Which means Shiro has just witnessed some pretty shady activity.

Shiro realizes, suspicion mounting, that the man is about to leave and run right into him. Adrenaline pumping, Shiro predicts the confrontation that’s about to go down. Not only that, but if he’s going to have a chance to detain him for Keith’s questions, he has to do something now.

Always utilize the element of surprise. Get your opponent at a disadvantage, Shiro thinks — the strategy having been long branded into him the hard way these last few years.

He spares a moment to check the area. Keith still hasn’t arrived back yet. The man smoking out the back exit is out of a line of sight.

Pulling his gun, Shiro slides noiselessly into the small dusty office and - gun raised - waits for the man to notice him.

The cop must notice a shift in the light because he whirls around, reaching for his gun. He stops short when he sees Shiro wielding a gun of his own. And then he notices Shiro’s suit - expensive and out of place for the deteriorating building they’re in. “Huh. So, are you the new go-between?” Annoyed, he asks, “What does the Mayor need  _ now _ ? Another loose end taken care of?”

And everything falls into horrible clarity. This is the man who ‘took care’ of Keith’s dad, covering up crimes for the mayor by killing the witnesses. Including any straight-and-narrow detectives who happened to stumble upon their mess.

Shiro only has a second to digest the discovery before the partly-opened door swings wide, admitting another person into the room. And Shiro’s gut clenches in worry. “Keith,” he shouts, knowing Keith has just walked unaware into a very volatile situation.

“What—“ Keith startles, eyes widening at the sight of their guns out. But he gasps more-so, indignant with recognition, and shouts, “You!”, pointing at the cop.

Whether Keith knows this cop is on the take or not, Shiro keeps his eyes on the man who clearly recognizes Keith. His face fills with dismay and… fear. Did he go to the funeral of his fellow policeman and see the son of the man he’d killed?

“Hey!” Shiro yells, drawing the man’s attention back to him and away from Keith.

It works, but the cop is jumpy and he shoots Shiro.

Unfortunately for Shiro, the man’s gun packs a wallop, because Shiro is knocked back to the wall behind him and - footing lost - slides to the ground. It all happens so fast.

Keith cries out, “Shiro!”

The cop swings his gun to shoot Keith, but Shiro reacts instinctively. He kicks hard at the heavy bookshelf along the nearby wall and pushes. The towering bookshelf teeters forward menacingly, then slams down onto the dirty cop before he can get another shot off. It cracks against his skull with a thunk and crushes him unconscious under it.

“Fuck!” comes a shout from down the hall. An outer door clangs shut, the smoking man in a suit having heard the gunshot and fled.

With the shady cop subdued, Keith rushes over to Shiro and kneels beside him.

Shiro pants with relief. Keith is okay. He stopped the guy without shooting him - avoiding a legal headache - and, he sighs, Keith is safe from harm.

Keith takes in the blood soaking Shiro’s abdomen. “Shit!”

Looking down, there’s enough blood that Shiro begins to worry he’s been fatally shot. “Oh.” He wasn’t expecting that. Damn, just when life was getting good. Shiro chuckles sadly and it sends pain screaming through wounded nerves.

Tears stream down Keith’s face, making him look younger. “Shiro,” he cries.

Heart breaking, he reminds himself that Keith will be okay. His beautiful Keith. “Stupid boy. Are you crying over me?” God, Shiro loves him. “Now, you will have one less mafia boss to deal with, Mister Policeman,” he drawls teasingly, trying to reassure Keith. To ease his tears.

“But I still want to deal with you!” Keith shouts, plaintive. Not consoled in the least. He puts pressure on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Sobs escape him and he swipes ineffectively at his face in an attempt to clear away the messy tears obscuring his vision, but it just spreads a streak of blood across his cheek.

Helplessly endeared, Shiro gazes upon Keith and smiles. “You know… It was kinda fun acting as your ‘fiancé’,” he confesses. Stunned at losing another chance with Keith, his smile drops away and tears start to gather in Shiro’s own eyes. “You’ll have a chance to find someone you can marry for real.” He laughs bitterly and looks distraught up into Keith’s tender eyes. “Though…,” Shiro admits, “the idea of you with someone else really pisses me off.”

“Is that so?” Keith speaks in hushed wonder, before passionately urging, “You better not die and marry me then!”

“Marry you?” Shiro’s heart skips a beat. Is Keith proposing?

“Yeah…,” Shiro whispers. Of course, he’d marry Keith if given the chance.

“It’s a…” His pulse is fluttering at the thought.

“nice…” Shiro would give anything…

“dream…”

“Shiro!” Keith calls out for him, but it sounds far away…

  
  


——

  
  


… 

There’s a hand clutching his tightly when he wakes.

Shiro wakes slowly, eyes blinking open. He’s… in the hospital? He looks over at Keith, sitting in the chair by his bed and holding his hand. “Keith?” he asks, tentative and hopeful that this is real.

“You’re so lucky.” Keith sniffles, lifting his head to hold his gaze. “So lucky. It hit your prosthetic arm and ricocheted across your stomach. It bled a lot, but the wound was shallow. You ended up with stitches and a bandage …but you should be okay.” Keith laughs, but it hitches with a sob.

Keith leans over him, face damp from tear trails. He cups Shiro’s cheeks and kisses him firmly.

Shiro sucks in a breath, and presses into it. Their first kiss. It’s warm, and soft, and everything. Absolutely everything. Shiro’s eyes slip closed and he hugs Keith close, leaning up into his mouth, his welcome embrace.

Keith moans, kissing Shiro with a deep hungry need - practically laying atop him - and riling Shiro up with fervent arousal.

He pulls back to pant and smirk down at him knowingly. “And you’re really lucky my pockets were big enough to stash your gun and lock-picks…”

Shiro stares at him in wonder, so grateful to have more time with this beautiful and kind treasure of a man. He grins, and makes a silent promise to himself to never take Keith for granted. He pulls Keith close for one more kiss and sighs with relief. Shiro’s eyes flutter open, meeting gorgeous dark eyes such an intriguing shade of purple. “I love you,” Shiro confesses, breathless with adoration.

Keith goes wide-eyed with shock and ducks to press their foreheads together. He nuzzles against Shiro and replies in a choked whisper, “I love you, too.”

Before they can go, Shiro gives a quick statement to some cops Keith knows. A blessedly simple formality. Then, Shiro’s allowed to discharge himself from the hospital and go home, so he does. He goes home with Keith.

——

Keith only needed a one bedroom and it was cheaper, but Shiro clearly remembers where he used to live because he picks up on the change quickly. “You moved?”

“Cheaper rent.” Keith shrugs.

“So, if someone moves the oven at your old place, they could discover my phone number,” Shiro jokes.

“Ha ha,” Keith shoots back sarcastically. “Very funny.” He shakes his head, still embarrassed over the incident. A single moment of clumsiness and they lost touch for years.

Never again.

“I’m lucky I have your number now,” Keith whispers, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and leaning in. “We won’t lose each other so easily this time around.” He drags Shiro into a kiss, hungry again for the taste of him. Happy and relieved to be able to hold him in his arms.

He whines, “I could kiss you for hours,” taking a breath before tilting back up to Shiro’s lips.

Shiro holds him tighter and slides his fingers under the edge of Keith’s shirt to palm the small of Keith’s back. “I want you, always,” he says, “so go right ahead.”

And Keith aches for him, pulse pounding.

“Please,” he whispers. “I need you.” And pulls him over to sit, where their making out only continues to heat up.

They make quick work of removing their clothes and Keith darts away and back, fetching the lube and a condom.

Shiro sucks in a breath as Keith straddles his lap and gazes up at him. “Do you have any idea how many times I dreamed of you?” He strokes Keith’s naked thighs. “Whether you knew it or not—,” he laughs, “—it’s been only you for years.”

“Years?” Keith asks, bewildered with wonderment. “There hasn’t been anyone since we met?”

Shiro shakes his head, smiling, and kisses him. “Just the thought of you. So, no.”

Wordlessly bemused at their unwitting loyalty to the memory of each other, Keith reveals, “Not for me either.” He giggles, remarks, “So, we don’t need this, then?” and tosses the condom behind him.

Eyebrows raised, Shiro answers, “We don’t need it. But I’m fine with it if you want it.”

“Mmm, good. But I just want to feel you.” Keith leans forward and runs his hands over Shiro’s chest.

Shiro shudders. “Yeah.”

“Let me,” Keith grabs the lube, and rushes his way through prepping himself, but makes sure to wedge himself wide with plenty of fingers. The size of Shiro’s dick is so large, that he’s glad he spent a few recent nights with Shiro-inspired fantasies and a dildo. Something that undoubtedly helped prepare his ass for what’s to come. What he hopes to continue to have. Eagerly, he anticipates the opportunity to be stretched out on Shiro’s cock every chance he gets.

Pulling his fingers free, Keith’s soft hole winks open, so ready for him.

Shiro slides his cock into Keith, groaning at the tight clutch of Keith’s hungry and hot muscles.

As his smooth erection plunges all the way into Keith - so thick and long - it dizzies Keith with arousal. Keith writhes, bouncing and flexing his hole around Shiro’s heavy cock. He gasps, “So good,” and moans, clinging to Shiro’s broad shoulders. And he doesn’t know how long they go at it, but he enjoys every moment of losing himself in Shiro’s arms. Grabbing hold of his body-warmed metal arm and humping frantically at the solid comfort of muscle, until Shiro’s balls slap against him and his own dick knocks wetly between them. Keith could happily spend an eternity in Shiro’s lap.

Shiro grunts, thrusting up into him. “Fuck, fuck—“ He fondles Keith’s ass - squeezing and massaging it, and grits his teeth, grinding sinuously deep. His skin grows even more flush with excitement.

And the visible loss of control does something to Keith, tipping him over the edge into wild fluttering spasms of release; spurting with satisfaction all over Shiro’s abs.

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro cries out and twitches hard inside him, rubbing so very deep and slippery against Keith’s prostate. He pumps Keith full and messy with warm cum.

“Yes,” Keith pants, shivering and wrung out with relief. “Fuck, yes,” he hums and rocks into it, coming down slowly.

They lean into each other, hugging sweat-slicked skin, and wait for their racing heartbeats to calm.

Sighing and leaning back, limbs weak from pleasure, Keith checks on Shiro. “Your stitches okay?”

Shiro prods lightly at them. “Yes, thankfully. But how about we save round two for a bed?” He smirks.

And hours later, they lay, pleasantly exhausted together in Keith’s bed.

Keith breathes in the scent of them, curled up to Shiro, and idly brushing a fingertip across Shiro’s chest. “So, how about it, huh?” He asks him, “Will you marry me?”

Shiro whips his head around to face him, shocked. And he grins, wide-eyed. Ecstatic. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” He kisses him and nips at his lips. “I love you, Keith. I would love to really, truly marry you. No more pretending.”

Keith smiles, besotted, and nuzzles into Shiro’s neck. “Good. Because I want to be married to you.”

He sucks sweet kisses into Shiro’s skin. Then lays his head on Shiro’s shoulder. And basks in planning for the future.

“I was also thinking about quitting my job. Maybe going to work with my mom - as a private investigator.”

——

At the precinct later, Iverson lays out the situation. “I’ve had a team going over this the past couple of days.” He sighs, “And the new evidence points to your father having stumbled upon some major corruption within this city’s political ring, and with a handful of our own officers to boot.” He pauses, then with a voice so rough it’s as though he’s speaking around gravel, he reveals, “One of them confessed to the killing of your father and several of them to the cover-up thereafter.” He goes on, “I’m sad to say, two of the men that were put on your father’s case, have since been linked to the politician involved in the cover-up. I’m sorry, Keith. Rest assured all of these men are being charged in connection with his murder.”

“Yeah.” Keith nods, stone-faced. He heard as much from Shiro when they were leaving the hospital. And it should feel better, shouldn’t it? The killer has been caught. These men will finally face justice for what they did. This is the closure he wanted. And yet… It still hurts. His dad is still dead. And he knew this wouldn’t bring his father back, but he is just so angry all over again. Why did he have to lose him this way? A small twist of fate and his dad might have lived, bringing justice to these men for their crimes along the way.

As it is, Keith’s discovery of new evidence in his father’s case has led to the rooting out of several corrupt cops and unearthed a mountain of new charges to be levied against a corrupt politician. “You uncovered the cash drop for multiple dirty cops connected to the mayor’s corruption, for which the city thanks you” Iverson says, pointing out a silver lining. It’s cold comfort.

Iverson sighs. “But I must say, Keith, while at least you uncovered who killed your father, you did break police protocol, and endanger the lives of yourself and others.” He frowns at Keith, concerned. “You could have lost your fiancé pulling these antics.”

“Yes, sir, I am aware,” Keith replies with quiet seriousness.

“So, you probably won’t be surprised then that I have to suspend you - pending further disciplinary action.” He holds a hand out for Keith’s police badge and gun.

“I was expecting it, sir.” Keith hands them over. “But I’d also like to tender my resignation from the force. I think I’m going to go work in private investigations.”

“Ah,” Iverson nods, solemn. It’s clear from the pained expression on his face that he knows the force has let Keith down. “I understand. Just… be careful out there, kid.”

“Thanks.” Keith appreciates the sentiment from a man so seldom caught being kind.

He visits Pidge and Hunk down in the lab on his way out.

Keith tosses two envelopes down in front of them, bracing himself for them to make a big deal out of this. “You’re both invited to my wedding. You can bring plus-ones if you want.”

“Ooh! A wedding already? We haven’t even been introduced to Shiro and we’re meeting him at the wedding?” Hunk grins.

Sheepish, Keith gives a lopsided smile. “Yeah, well. What can I say? We’re pretty serious about each other. And we decided to just do it. It’s a small wedding. Close friends and family.”

Keith quirks a pointed eyebrow at Pidge. “And the reception’s going to be open bar, but don’t get too wild,” he says, emphasizing, “There’s going to be some of Shiro’s friends there and I don’t want cops having to be called out. Not only because it might result in a mess of conflict that I don’t want to deal with, but I didn’t invite everyone from the station. I don’t want to be put on the spot like that.”

Pidge smirks. “Wow. I’m impressed,” she says. But with a touch of concern, she asks, “Are you sure, though - about Shiro? You’re okay with committing to him, knowing what he does? You’re not going to have a crisis of conscience later on?”

“No,” he assures, “I made sure Shiro’s mob isn’t doing the types of things I couldn’t live with myself for not reporting.”

Pidge gasps, intrigued. “What is the Altean mafia doing? C’mon, tell me. I promise not to tell.”

“Nope! No,” Hunk moves to cover his ears. “I don’t want to know.”

Keith shrugs with a laugh, “They basically just do money laundering for a handful of forgery operations.”

Pidge scoffs, “Lame. I was expecting something cooler, or more mysterious.”

——

With Keith - stunningly radiant in a white tuxedo - and Shiro - devastatingly handsome in a black tux of his own, they get married in a breathtaking but modest ceremony on Christmas Eve.

“I never took you for the type to do a cheesy theme wedding,” Allura smirks, overlooking the elegant Christmas-themed reception with Shiro.

“It’s romantic, I think. Our anniversary now coincides with Christmas.” Shiro shrugs, beaming with happiness and pride. “I like it.”

“A total romantic,” Allura teases. She laughs and when a song with a beat comes on, she dances away, smiling.

“So, Shiro,” Krolia sidles up to Shiro during a free moment. “I hope you don’t mind, but with Christmas coming up, I got Keith a dog,” she says, plainly uncaring whether he actually minds. “He’s had guard dog training and tactical training, along with being top of his class in detection and recovery.” Krolia narrows her eyes at Shiro pointedly. “You’ll have to forgive my protective instincts.” She smiles wickedly. “A mother wants to know that her child is safe, and I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

Shiro gulps, aware that he’s being vaguely threatened to treat Keith with the kindness and respect that he deserves. But he has no intention of doing otherwise, so he’s not worried. On the other hand, he is perhaps slightly alarmed that Keith’s mother may have caught onto his less-than-legal career choices. “Of course,” he assures her. “Keeping Keith safe is definitely something we agree on.” He smiles, earnestly seeking her approval. No matter how long she’s been away, he knows how integral staying in her good graces is to Keith’s happiness.

She pats him on the shoulder, her smile much friendlier than it was when she approached. “Glad we see eye to eye on this.”

Meanwhile, Keith has been cornered by Pidge and Hunk, who congratulate him.

“Keith! I’m so happy for you.” Pidge exclaims and tugs him aside.

“Yeah. Congrats, Keith! Your wedding was great and this food is amazing. You’ve got to introduce me to the caterer,” Hunk gushes, gesturing to his second helping of appetizers and his almost finished piece of cake.

Keith grins, riding the excitement of the occasion. “Thanks. And sure, I’ll introduce you to her later.”

Pidge cuts in, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I want to give you your wedding gift in person.” She shoves it into his hand.

Keith inspects it, surprised to see she’s handed him a crumpled piece of paper. “This is a gift?” he asks, dubious.

She rolls her eyes, bouncing slightly with impatience. “Just open it!”

Skeptical, he unwraps the paper, smoothing it out to read. It’s Shiro’s description. The description of the rumored head of the Altean mob that he’d last seen tacked to the precinct’s police bulletin board.

Pidge smirks. “Did you hear the latest description of what the new head of the Altean mob looks like? I heard he’s some short guy with glasses.” With a wink, she affirms, “As far as anyone knows, your new husband is merely in charge of a high-end coffee house.”

Keith gasps, realizing the enormity of this gift to him. The amount of mischief she got up to in order to ensure a safer future for his husband and himself. “Thank you, Pidge. This means a lot.”

Horrified, Hunk just looks at Keith wide-eyed and remarks, “I just got you guys a set of dishes. I know you mainly ate off paper plates.”

They laugh.

Mariah Carey’s ‘ _ All I Want For Christmas Is You _ ’ starts playing and Shiro swoops in. “Apologies for interrupting, but I was hoping to dance with my husband,” he says, grinning.

Keith smiles, charmed to see how happy Shiro is with calling Keith his husband at every opportunity. “Sap,” he giggles. And lets himself be led onto the dance floor, where Shiro waltzes them around, having a good time and indulging in being a little silly. Keith laughs helplessly. He’s too happy to contain the joy he’s feeling. Carey belts out the lyrics and god, Keith’s feeling it. He gloms onto Shiro, and snarks up at him, “So, are you going to hold me tight tonight?”

Shiro kisses him, gazes into his eyes, and lovingly says, “Baby, I’ll hold you so tight.” He strokes his cheek, smiles wide, and nudges his chin up to draw both of their eyes to the mistletoe above them. Shiro sweeps Keith up into his arms, spins him around, and kisses him while gently setting him back down. “Mmm,” he hums. “I love you so much, dearest husband of mine.”

Keith delights in the intimacy, their heads together. “More than you could ever know,” he quips, utterly awed at this gift of love.

-The End-

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to check out Iwonn’s gorgeous art that corresponds with this story at her art masterposts ([part 1](https://iwonn-arts.tumblr.com/post/189721427180/my-first-comic-for-sheithreversebb-wedding) & [part 2](https://iwonn-arts.tumblr.com/post/189721450310/and-heres-the-2nd-comic-i-did-for)). Let us know if you enjoyed any of this. Comments encouraged. This story is based on her beautiful comic panels. And I hope I developed it to your satisfaction. I’m also a big fan of mysteries, so tell me what you thought of this mystery. Was it intriguing? Did you spot the narrative clues? Were you surprised?
> 
> You can also find and follow me on twitter [@Wendy_Pi_Slice](https://twitter.com/Wendy_Pi_Slice). I do have a [tumblr](https://ificanlivethruthis.tumblr.com), but I’m not on there as much anymore.


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